


They Know Not If It's Dark Outside or Light

by wordpunk



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-14 20:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2201838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordpunk/pseuds/wordpunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alison recalls the weekend Beth took her to New York City to get away from the madness of their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. People Out There Like You

A hand clutches tightly to a delicate glass of wine. Alison lifts the arm of an old record player, dropping the needle into a carefully chosen groove. A very subdued Beth brought the player to her house one afternoon along with a slew of records.

“I guess Paul and I have no use for these, right now. I’m never home and he carries all his music around on his Blackberry. Maybe Gemma and Oscar will have fun playing around with it.”

Alison knew her kids would scratch the heck out of Beth’s albums. So, she decided to keep them high on a shelf in her craft room. The player, however, remained out in the family room next to the television.

She had searched through the dusty sleeves, the musk of cardboard and age lilting to her nostrils. There was a hint of Beth somewhere in that pungent smell. The shower gel she had told Alison to buy when she was feeling tense…something with eucalyptus in it. When she found what she was looking for, the record slipped free of its slip, rolling across the tiled craft room floor.  
  
“Ffffff-ishsticks.”

As the record spins, Elton John’s “Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters” comes crackling to life through the speakers of Donnie’s surround sound system. Engulfed in memories, Alison’s eyes close and she’s back.

Back in New York City.  
  
_ _ _

“I think we need a ladies’ retreat,” Beth had smirked once Alison had finally mastered the art of target practice. “Donnie’s always off on some business trip. I think it’s time you let him keep the brats for a weekend.”

“They’re not brats, Beth,” Alison scoffed.

The detective had raised an eyebrow. “If they’re _your_ kids...,”

“Fine.” Alison gave in, latching her gun case and storing it in her locker.

Beth closed her own, pocketing the tiny gold key into her black jeans.

“Do you have a passport?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Good,” Beth grinned.


	2. Turn Around and Say Good Morning to the Night

The lights of Times Square glittered over Alison’s head. _Dream come true_ didn’t cover it, no. A giant poster, neatly framed, of this same view had hung over her bed at university all four years.

She had yearned so long to take in these lights; to hear the rush of taxis and buses on the streets, and see the Naked Cowboy in real life. He seemed dirty.

The woman standing next to Alison wasn’t looking up at marquees and towering billboards, though. Beth was fixed on Alison’s glowing face. The relief and falling of the young suburban mother’s shoulders was something only Beth could dream of experiencing herself. _If I can’t find a way to do it for me_ , she had thought, _maybe I can do it for someone else._

“Come on,” Beth whispered, grabbing Alison’s hand. “Let’s get dinner.”

Alison’s stomach rumbled. She knew of Beth’s penchant for take out and her loyalty discount at the pizza parlor back home. Hope held strong that the cop wouldn’t drag her off to a McDonald’s just for the luxury of proximity.

The girls passed crowds of tourists snapping photos of the sights. Their blurs would be seen in the background of photos aimed toward the wax museum and shimmering lights.

Beth twisted around a corner to a less dense block of Broadway.  Alison followed her, stepping abruptly into a alcove harboring a small, ornate door.

“This look okay to you?” Alison peered inside to a cozy restaurant, warmly lit, and well packed.

“I’m not sure if we’re dressed for this, Elizabeth.” She bit her lip. Beth’s trench coat was fairly appropriate, but Alison’s own jumper and flats made her feel inadequate and like a very obvious out-of-towner.

“Don’t worry,” the cop bumped hips with Alison. “I’ve been here before. We’re fine.”

Beth held open the door, allowing a hesitant Alison to walk inside.

“Good evening,” the hostess nodded to a smiling Beth.

“Two, please,” she said with confidence.

The hostess took a moment, looking down, before she replied, “It looks like quite a wait, ladies. Dinner rush, and all. Did you want to come back after the show?”

“I knew it,” breathed Alison into Beth’s shoulder. “We should leave.”

“Hang on a sec,” Beth shushed into her hair. She glanced up at the hostess, brushing aside her coat to reveal the badge lodged onto her belt. “Would you mind? It’s a special night for my friend, here.”  
  
“Not at all, detective” the hostess chimed, at once. She grabbed up two menus as Alison turned to Beth, mouth agape.

“Elizabeth!”

The cop replied through her teeth, “I’ve told you before, Ali. It’s Beth. And chill. Let’s go sit!”


	3. If I Knew The Tune, I Might Join In

“You can’t use your badge for evil!” said Alison, taking a seat at the orderly table for two.

“Hey! This is not evil. This is food we’re talking about. Besides, this place owes me one.”

The server set menus before the women, and Alison couldn’t help but smile at her new friend. Beth’s face was buried in the complicated dinner list.

“Why can’t I ever decide what the hell I want?” The detective rhetorically asked parchment and ink.

“Because you hardly think of yourself in the first place,” Alison casually inserted the truth, perusing the menu and focusing hard on not making eye contact with Beth.

Beth looked up at Alison. The woman's ears had wiggled a little when her eyebrows rose to focus on the menu. How could one woman understand her so well when the men she had known for years couldn’t grasp a single fly away thought of hers?

“Would you ladies care for a glass of wine tonight?”

“Oh!” Alison hadn’t even thought of wine.

“May we have the Chateau Leoube, please?”

“An excellent choice.”

“We’ll take the bottle,” Alison added, biting her lip. Beth rolled her eyes at the soccer mom. “I’m on vacation.”

The rest of dinner carried on as Beth and Alison tore through Italian-style dishes before sharing a slice of raspberry cheesecake.

“This is _so_ good.”

“Mmm,” Beth gestured with her fork toward the slice. “Homemade. In house. This shit does not come from a box. No, ma’am,”

Alison giggled, finishing off her glass. “This wine is incredible, too.”

“Thank my cousin, Zelda. She’s a sommelier.”

“Oh, I think she and I would get along real nice. Mhmm.”

Beth caught sight of her watch and choked on graham cracker crust. “We’ve gotta go. The show starts in thirty minutes.”

“Show?”

“Duh.”

“Beth….”

“Don’t Beth me. You’re getting the full experience.”

_ _ _

And so she did, sitting orchestra center before a belting Kristen Chenoweth and Idina Menzel. Alison had followed Wicked since its inception and rehearsals in Atlanta. She dreamt of Glendale Community Theatre acquiring the rights as soon as they were released so she could play Glinda the Good Witch, forcing Aynsley to be the one slathered in garish green makeup.

“This is nothing like the book,” whispered Beth, after a particularly fluffy scene. She wasn't big on musicals, but the story had intrigued her after watching the Wizard of Oz so many times growing up with her grandmother.

“It’s better,” Alison smiled widely, not taking her eyes off the stage. Her hand reached for Beth’s, who was all elbows on either armrest.

Beth looked down at Alison’s hand, the freckle between her index and thumb fingers, the elegant wedding band and engagement ring from Donnie. Her heart soared, only straight into her throat as the lyrics from “For Good” hit far too close to home.

Working with Art was an everyday parade of wisecracks and asshole-ry, but the coldness of Paul and cases that hauntingly grew closer and closer to home had overwhelmed Beth with mental and emotional confusion.

She had started to doubt Paul’s true love after his umpteenth weekend visit to Cody. He hardly spent any free time with Beth. They were the perfect magazine couple; posed, poised, well-dressed, and handsome – yet so, so empty.

Beth was tired of feeling hollow, and the discovery of Alison, amongst the other clones, reminded her of home. It reignited a fire, a hero inside of Beth that had driven her to become a detective in the first place. Cosima was now poking at things with sticks, and Beth was the one who had found those things for her to poke. Alison was the heart of their little group. Familiarity and sanity.

When the house lights returned to their full orange glow, Alison turned to Beth brimming with happiness.

“Holy goalie, Beth!”


	4. Spanish Harlem Are Not Just Pretty Words To Say

“I know,” Beth whispered, looking into the swirling greens and browns of Alison’s eyes. Not a tear had dropped down the soccer mom’s cheek, but the remnants of saline had settled at the bottom of her lids. 

Alison squeezed Beth’s hand again, surprising the detective. Somehow, she had become familiar with her touch, forgetting she was attached to anything but the theatre’s seat. 

As they made their way out with the crowd, Beth began to ramble on about the architecture of the building.

“Those paintings have been restored only once since the completion of the building.”  
  
“What? That’s insane!” Alison granted a crazed look of her own toward the cop.  
  
“The artist used vegetable pigments so that the color would last longer and stay vibrant.”  
  
“How on earth do you know these things, Beth? I mean, being a detective and paying attention to detail is one thing….”  
  
“My Dad used to take me into the city on the weekends he had me. He tried his best to impress me with art and music, and it worked. But I also noticed how comfortable all these people were with crime, ignoring the wrongs and never really encouraging the right.”  
  
The two women stepped out into the night. Alison looked up. The city was even more gorgeous. It was a grand composition between nature and electricity. The dusky blue of the sky and contrast of green trees fought for her attention with the blinking, glittering Broadway lights. Her face hurt from smiling so much.

It was hard to marry the conflicting ideas of beauty and corruption in her mind.  
  
“He sounds like a good father, Beth,”  
  
“He was,” the cop gave soft smile. Alison could see a pain somewhere behind Beth’s eyes, but couldn’t bring herself to inquire. Beth noticed Alison’s pause and added, “So, where to next?”  
  
“More?!” Alison’s shoulders fell. “What time is it even?”  
  
Beth checked her silver watch. It slipped down her arm just a bit, enough for her to turn the face whenever she felt anxious or worried.

“It’s just ten fifteen.”  
  
“That’s far past Oscar and Gemma’s bedtime,” said Alison, running a hand across her bangs to ensure neatness.  
  
“Doesn’t mean it has to be yours, Ali,”  
  
“I know. I just…haven’t had this kind of freedom since…Lord… since university,”  
  
The minute Alison had said "freedom", Beth knew where to take her. Sure, it would be crowded. The atmosphere was well worth the trip, though.

She placed a hand on the small of Alison’s back. “If we backtrack to Times Square, I have a place in mind.”  
  
Alison settled naturally against Beth’s arm as they weaved in and out of the post-show river of tourists. Steam rose from the manholes on the streets and the faint smell of hot dogs and roasted nuts faded into the evening’s grit.

“Hey there, little ladies,” an Elvis impersonator crooned. Alison’s hand shot back up to her face, this time out of embarrassment. Beth pulled her hand away, walking her through the entry to the Hard Rock Café’.  
  
“Mr. King,” Beth giggled, nodding to the middle-aged man and passing by.  
  
“Mm! Thank ya very much,” he thrust his hips toward the women, making both uncomfortable. They rushed on through the gift shop and into the reception area.  
  
The room was buzzing alive with tourists and music memorabilia. 

“What in Hades have you brought me into?” Alison soared an eyebrow into her bangs, convinced her friend was completely out of her mind. Buddy Holly’s hit “That’ll Be the Day” pumped through the speakers hung around the open room.

“Rock and roll!”  
  
“But you like James Taylor and Joni Mitchell! I saw the albums!”

“Yeah, but there’s a forty-five of Hendrix inside the Peter, Paul, and Mary box set and London Calling lodged…I believe in between the unopened fold of a Carole King album.”  
  
It was as if Alison was seeing a whole other person. Beth’s life was already a mystery beyond her work as a detective…. How much was she hiding? From Alison? From Paul?  
  
“Look, there’s no way in hell I can run to Cat Stevens’s Greatest Hits.”  
  
Alison recalled her Hip Hop Abs DVDs and nodded. It made sense. There’s no heavy booty shaking to be done in Frank Sinatra’s work.

They shared drinks at a table next to a shadowbox of Elton John artifacts.  
  
“What did you get again?”  
  
“Dirty Shirley Temple”  
  
“Oh good God, let me see that,” Beth took a long pull from Alison’s drink, shoving her own in the soccer mom’s direction. “Try mine.”  
  
Without asking, Alison took a sip and made a disgusted face. “Saints alive, Elizabeth. How are you not passed out on the floor already?”

“What? You don’t like the Jailhouse Bourbon on the Rocks? I can’t be seen with you. I’m sorry,” Beth jokingly made her way to get up from the booth when Alison grabbed the hem of her sweater.  
  
“I’m not a pussy, Beth,”  
  
“Whoa! I never said you were, dude,” Beth was surprised at Alison’s sudden serious expression, but she could see something was really bothering her. Overhead, “Boogie Shoes” by K.C. and the Sunshine began to play. The detective grabbed the suburbanite’s delicate hand, pulling her from the booth.  
  
“Come here.”  
  
“Are we leaving? We haven’t paid!”  
  
“We’re dancing.” Beth lunged toward the middle of the room.  
  
“No way!”  
  
“Shut up and dance with me,” Beth pulled Alison in closer than she had the whole night. She had seen the stiffness leave Ali’s body before, after being away from her family. Now, it was time to take it a step further. Alison looked scared, vulnerable even. It was a sight Beth had seen all too many times while staring into her own mirror.  
  
“Don’t worry,” the cop reassured. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”  
  
Alison glanced out at the other random couples and families dancing around their tables and displays. They all appeared to be so happy and excited to be in the city.

When she realized how near Beth was still holding her in her arms, how Beth was looking at her as if she wanted to erase every single hurt and pain away from Alison’s life, she exhaled deeply. “Okay.” 

Instead of Beth leading her out into the throng, Alison took her friend’s sleeve and dragged her, already bouncing to the beat.

“If you want me to let go. I’m letting go.”  
  
And thus it began. Beth hardly had to try as Alison moved her hips, swaying left to right. It was calculated, as if she were counting in her head or imagining a work out DVD, but Beth didn’t care. Her friend was smiling. Her friend was dancing. After acting like she had a broom handle shoved up her ass since they had first met, it was incredible to see her “let go”.

Beth began to pull stupid faces and sing along to the song, reminding Alison of Danny Zuko during the dance in Grease. She wanted to make the reference to Beth, but didn’t know if she’d seen the film. _We’re so so different,_ she thought.

She also recognized Beth had a certain talent of breaking eye contact whenever she got too into the music. She ventured to guess Beth was just as uncomfortable dancing with another woman as she was. Dancing with Donnie had required a lot of leading in the past, though, and Alison tried hard to hold back her notion to redirect Beth’s gaze into her own.

The third or fourth time Beth had bumped into Alison from not paying attention, Ali finally grabbed Beth’s hips, “And you think I’m the one that needs to loosen up?”

A certain grin kept trying to rise to Beth’s lips. There it was. That little bit of spicy Alison she had been wondering even existed behind the perfect façade of suburbia and motherhood.  
  
“Sorry,” Beth said, looking down and laughing. Ali took her index finger and pushed her friend’s chin back up.

“I want to thank you,”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“This,” Alison aimed for Beth to follow her evaluation of the room. “I needed to get away, even if just for the weekend.”  
  
“Oh,”  
  
“I mean it. You’ve been a better friend to me than all of those bitches in Bailey Downs,”  
  
“Well, now that you mention it,” Beth’s sideways grin snuck across her features and Alison slapped her on the shoulder.  
  
The song changed to a slow, somber tune. Alison made to move back to their table, their drinks watered down from melting ice.  
  
“Hang on,” said Beth, holding onto Alison’s hand. “This is one of my favorite songs.”  
  
She pulled the surprised soccer mom back into her arms.  
  
“And I need to thank you,” Beth whispered, moving to put her chin on Alison’s shoulder.  
  
“Beth, I’ve done nothing but cause trouble for you,”

“That’s a lie,”  
  
Alison grabbed hold of Beth’s shoulders bringing them eye to eye.  
  
“You’re a cop. Cosima’s a scientist. I’m a homemaker with a penchant for wine and sausage rolls.”  
  
“Which are incredible, by the way. I have no idea why Donnie hates them,”  
  
“It’s the rosemary, but nevermind. _Why_ are _you_ thanking me?”  
  
Beth laughed to herself quietly.

“Because I’ve been so, um, lonely, since I started working on our case. I know. I know it sounds weird because I have you and Cos, now. Finding out you’re a clone, though, isolates you. You feel like a cookie cutter version of who you once were. I feel like my identity’s just been…stolen from me.”  
  
A tear fell down Alison’s cheek as the song surrounded her and this newfound best friend.                 

“Beth,” Alison began.

“No,” the detective closed her eyes, a reserved smile. “Just let me thank you. We don’t have to get into it. You’re on vacation,”  
  
Alison leaned in, kissing Beth on the cheek. She didn’t move to see a reaction, but instead laid her head on Beth’s shoulder, closing her own eyes and letting the song play out its final notes.


End file.
